Bittersweet Melody

Chapter 7

"Sometimes I can be cold, but for you my heart is always warm."
Chapter Seven

[Flashback]

I lost the ability to play the piano long ago, during that night.
I remember it clearly, strolling down the street, my eyes fixated on the same old man I had come to see play the old creaky instrument that was stranded on the street.
It wasn't just any instrument either, it was his home. His life. His love. His beauty.
It was his everything.

He turned to me that day, smiling although it made himself feel more fatigue, like even lifting the muscles of his face was an exercise.
He said, "Don't you get tired of hearing me play?"
I shook my head, and I remember smiling back.
The last thing I ever told him, was that his songs were beautiful.

But he refused, taking out a photo of a young boy who's smile was kind.
"My grandson," he said; a benevolent endearment in his eyes.
"He made it."

Then the next day I went back to watch him, listen to him, and sit there with him.
Only to find everything in tatters.
Burned.
Broken.
And shattered.

The old man sat beside his piano, weeping, sobbing miserably until his breathing became erratic.
Until he collapsed in my arms and I was left panicked and afraid.
The sirens of the ambulance that came my way, when I sat there holding his hand for dear life as tears strolled down my cheeks uncontrollably.
I can't forget it.
The sight of his broken dreams that burned into a crisp before his eyes.

When I traveled inside of the ambulance with him, holding his frail hands tightly. The hands that used to play the melody that I had come to love so, so dearly.
I remember waiting in the emergency room's waiting hall, my hands shaking, charred in black out of pulling the poor man away from the fire.
I remember being so angry, so frustrated.
Because in the end I couldn't do anything but mourn his death.
"I'm sorry." They said.

Then it became my nightmare. The vivid scene when I pulled the white cloth that covered his head down. The sight of his face, his sadness, his loneliness.
I sobbed until I couldn't.

Because the melody, was gone.

[Present Time]

Held tightly in the grasp of my fingers I squeezed the ends of my textbook close against my chest. My head rests against the table.

Today was gray.

His death occurred on this day, the day I lost myself and my reason. I heaved a deep sigh and closed my eyes.
The peacefulness of this classroom can only last so long until the bell rings and everyone comes strolling in.

And, it's not even me.

Min Yoongi sat just barely seats away, his eyes closed as small but breathy snores left his mouth. This man was like a sleeping gummy bear.

Literally.

In his ears, his earbuds were loud, playing a classic remedy everyone knew in this school.
Chopin's Piano Sonata No. 2.
A popular, replayed song, a classical piece that brought harmony and peace.

I peeped my eye at him, his sleeping figure seemed to be in such serenity.
I felt jealous.
I wish I could be able to do that.
Sighing again, I turned over and gazed out the window.
The sun's light blaring against my face, so bright I had to squint.

Though today.

Today it was clear outside.

The pearly white clouds, and the diamond blue that appeared like a crystal sky.
It was peaceful too.

"You're awake?" I flinched, almost choking on my own saliva as the sound of the chair beside mine is pulled against the marble flooring of the room.

Turning to find whomever it was, to my surprise it was him.

In his hand, his iPod, and in the other his backpack. He tossed his bag onto the table and sat himself in the chair beside mine.

"What are you doing?" I rose my eyebrow, swallowing thickly.

"Sleeping." He scoot close and laid his head against the comfort of his bag, closing his eyes.

Frowning, I poked at his forearm until he opened an eye in annoyance.

"What?" He groaned, sitting up.

"Go sleep somewhere else." I crossed my arms over my chest. He rolled his eyes and laid himself back down against his backpack.

"No."

Knowing all too well I would never have the chance to get him to leave, I blew out a breath and laid my head down as well. My face facing his.
I looked over his features, his skin practically glowed. Pale but fair.

"Stop staring at me." He opened his eyes, catching me red handed. Frowning, he turned over towards the other side, his fingers rapidly pressed against the volume of his iPod to increase the volume of the classical songs that played.

So much for ignoring me.

Though, the music that played through his buds were oddly, enough to make me feel tired.

That was, until something caught my attention.

Line, after line.
Key after key.

His melody, his song, and his voice begun to emit from Yoongi's headphones.

I sat up from my seat, eyes wide.

This familiar song, the tune and it's entirety in itself.

Before I even realized it.

I had already shed tears.